Chapter Thirty-Four - Something Old, Something New #2
There was no response from the old soldier. She craned her neck out the window but could not see out far enough to look at him.
“Tomas?” she called out again, only to be met with silence.
She had been about to bang the roof again when the carriage turned the corner and was bathed in a glowing emerald light.
The spire of the Baurnhof loomed over her as the carriage travelled over the wide bridge towards the university.
The green gemstone that was inlaid throughout the white stone thrummed with power.
It’s spire stretched towards the moonlight sky.
Even in the confines of the carriage she could feel it.
It was as if through thinking of her father she had manifested it to her. His great work. His second home.
The horses stopped at the grand staircase that led up to the doors of the university.
A moment later the doors were opened, and the hand of a hooded figure was held out to her.
Hesitantly, she took it, carefully moving her skirts as she stepped down from the carriage.
The figure closed the door behind her and lowered their hood, revealing a face that was horrifyingly familiar, and yet unknown.
“My how you’ve grown Rosamund.”
The man that stood in front of her was the double of Dorian.
Though with a few more lines upon his face.
The eyes were a dark black, flecked with gold rather than the pale grey eyes of her betrothed.
But there was a similarity in the shape of them, his nose, the chin.
Even the smile looked the same, though it bore more of a resemblance to the cold smile that he wore when his mask was up than his true one.
He had the same towering stature, the same broad shoulders under the black and gold embroidered robes.
There were flecks of silver at the temples of his thick black hair, more smoothed out than Dorian wore his.
And the final difference, the burnished gold crown of Valdyr.
More than any of his other sons, Dorian resembled him the closest.
“Why, the last time I saw you, you only came up to my knee. Though, you probably don’t remember that.”
King Ovidian.
Dorian’s father.
The man who had executed her father.
“Forgive our interruption of your journey, I promise we will get you to the temple on time,” he gestured back to the carriage.
Rosamund just about managed to peel her eyes away from the King to look back.
Sitting where Tomas usually sat was another familiar face.
His white hair smoothed back, his owlish grey eyes staring down at her like the iron works she had seen on the way here.
Luceran. He gave her a wink before he clicked his tongue and moved the horses off, leaving her along with the King.
As she turned back to him, the fear that had caused her to freeze suddenly spurred her to action. She immediately fell into a curtsy, “You majesty.”
“Oh none of that, not when it’s just us,” he held out a hand to her, lifting her up, “you’re practically family. Or at least, will be.”
He let go of her hand but only to offer her his arm.
She wanted to recoil, to run, but instead she took it, holding it lightly.
Something sharp pricked at her fingers, like static, as he held her arm close to him, grasping her hand.
Thunder rumbled above them as they approached the University doors.
“I thought long and hard about an appropriate wedding gift,” he said as he walked, “My son already has so much from me, that I decided that I would think on something for you instead. And then it came to me.”
He gestured to the grand building that towered before them, “what better gift than allowing you the chance to visit your father’s greatest achievement,” his smile widened when she looked round at him in surprise, “well I was too excited I simply couldn’t wait.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” she was just about able to squeeze out the words through her terror, “though, if I recall correctly, women are not permitted within the boundaries of the university.”
The King only laughed and turned to look at her with a patronising smile, “my darling girl, you are with me. You can go anywhere you like.”
She forced herself to return the smile, even though her arm was shaking.
Through fear or rage she was not sure. All she knew was that part of her wanted to run from this place, and another part of her wanted to rip the smile from this man’s face.
And yet, she was desperate to see inside these walls.
Desperate to see what her father built, what he had wanted to destroy.
“Your majesty is very generous,” she said as the large doors swung open.
“I am, aren’t I?”
He did not use the royal ‘we’ like Lyonesse did.
Everything was ‘I’ and ‘me’. It was disarming.
He held her arm the same way her father would if they had been taking a stroll.
He spoke to her as if she was a beloved niece, not the daughter of the man who had tried to usurp him.
It was like a snake, weaving a hypnotic charm to lure her in, she saw the danger, and yet she moved towards it.
They stepped through to a cloister which surrounded an immense square.
In the centre of it was a bronze structure with many moving parts, floating and twirling in the air on their own.
There were no students, no sound of bustling robes passing by, only the echoing sound of their footsteps on the ground.
And the soft sound of sand falling. With the amount of power he possessed the idea that he required guards to look after his person was somewhat laughable.
But still, she thought there would be someone.
The thrum of the tower was stronger here, and her eyes were drawn to each new fascinating room they passed through. They started at the college of Arcane Theory; the walls papered with runes, spell craft and ancient languages. Still, the rooms were empty, abandoned.
When he saw her looking confused, he said, “I thought we would have some privacy during our tour. The students and teachers are all confined to quarters until we leave.”
Confined?
She would have preferred to see these halls full, as her father had described, to have overheard their discussions, seen their magic.
“Your father and I built this place together you know,” said the King as they walked along the halls, Rosamund’s gaze being pulled from one room to the next.
She tried not to frown. Her father had built this place alone. The idea that King Ovidian had any hand it did not sit well with her, “you did?”
“We spent many a night discussing it’s design, it’s purpose.
When we were younger men of course,” he laughed with genuine fondness, “we would stay up all night until the sun rose, discussing the library we would build. The observatory of the Seven Stars, all of it. Even then we could never fathom the true potential of this place.”
“You knew my father well?”
The King stared at her with part confusion, and what looked like a small amount of genuine hurt, “he was my best friend.”
No mask could have prevented the look of disbelief at those words. Before she could get a hold of her expression, the look of hurt deepened in the King, and he turned away, resuming their stroll through the university.
“You did not know?”
“Forgive me, your majesty,” she said quickly.
He waved his hand dismissively, but his frown deepened.
Her father had been the King’s Arcane Adviser. He had never given any indication that there had been more than that. That they had been friends.
“Father did not often speak about his time in the city.”
A partial truth. Could he see the lie in it? Luceran would have. What had his silver haired son already told him? The genuine hurt the King displayed surprised her. She could not understand it. This…disappointment.
It was still running around her mind as they walked through the Alchemical Gardens, though she quickly became lost in her surroundings.
Wide, sweeping glasshouses filled with all manner of plants.
Some she recognised and others she didn’t.
The power of it filled her. Called out to her, begging to be touched and reached.
She resisted, but only just. The King’s frown, so like Dorian’s, faded into amusement as he watched her.
Letting go of her arm, he allowed her to sweep through the rooms at her own pace, moving from arch to arch, examining each rare flower.
“This was your father’s favourite room,” said the King softly.